


Under Pressure

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Karaoke, M/M, Unlikely Duets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: Fluff Friday prompt: strangers forced into a karaoke duet by mutual friends!
Relationships: Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Under Pressure

Gerard kind of assumed, once he stopped drinking, that he’d never do karaoke again; “sober” and “karaoke” just did not fucking go together. But for some fucking reason, this is what Mikey wanted to do for his birthday, and he couldn’t exactly say no to that. 

As he watches Frank shimmy his way through a bizarrely sexual version of “Last Caress,” Gerard has to admit that it’s not the worst idea ever. Watching other people make fools of themselves? Totally fun. Just as long as nobody expects _him_ to get up there, he’s good. 

It probably helps that they’re at Pete Wentz’s bar, which is closed to the public for the occasion, and that the crowd is like 75% musicians and 0% “Sweet Caroline” types. Gerard has no fucking clue how Pete even got ahold of instrumental-only Misfits songs, but he’s not mad about it. 

“Up next, a very special duet from our resident divas, ladies and gentlemen,” calls Gabe Saporta, who’s acting as the emcee this evening. 

“This should be good,” Gerard mumbles, and gives Frank a thumbs-up as he slides back into their booth. 

“About that,” Frank says innocently. 

Gerard has about half a second to stare before Gabe’s shouting his name.

“Duet?” Gerard squeaks. 

“It’s my birthday,” Mikey says, with a little quirk of an eyebrow.

How the fuck do you argue with that? 

Then he’s being forcibly shoved to his feet, and Gabe’s steering him firmly stageward. 

And yes, okay, he’s a performer, but… it’s one thing to be strutting around singing his own words in front of a massive arena of people who are there to see him; it’s another to sing god-knows-what with god-knows-who in front of all Mikey‘s weird hipster friends. Besides, he hasn’t warmed up. 

Gerard’s not good with surprises. 

He’s never actually met Brendon Urie before, and this is basically the weirdest way he can imagine meeting someone, but he can’t help noticing that the kid is _pretty_ , up close, with his big doe eyes and puffy lips. Gerard’s almost relieved to see that Brendon looks just as taken aback as he feels; he’s twitchy, bouncing on the balls of his feet and giving Gerard a cartoonish expression of surprise as he steps up to the mic.

“Assholes,” Brendon says, with a middle finger in Gabe’s direction, before giving Gerard a sheepish sideways glance. “Hell of a way to meet one of your idols.” 

That’s sort of ridiculously flattering. Gerard has no idea what to say. 

“Apparently there’s been some debate over who has the more… flamboyant stage presence,” Gabe announces from the back of the room. “So we’re here to find out, once and for all!” 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Gerard says, laughing in spite of himself. 

Then he hears the very familiar opening notes of “Under Pressure,” and… yeah, okay. If he’s gonna have a diva-off with Brendon Urie, this is the right song for it. 

“Bowie or Mercury?” Brendon asks him, eyes twinkling. He poses with a hand on his hip and gives Gerard the world’s most over-the-top-wink, and just like that, he’s wearing his stage persona, confident and charismatic. It’s a hell of a change. 

“That’s a fucking impossible question, but the high notes are all yours,” Gerard says. 

“I was _not_ prepared for this,” Brendon says under his breath, nerves showing for a second before the showman in him takes over again. He slides into the intro, _mmm dum ba day_ , without missing a beat, like he could sing this song in his sleep… like maybe he used to practice this one in front of a mirror, decked out in his mom’s eyeliner, the same way Gerard did as a teenager. 

Gerard grabs his mic and poses with the stand, arm out, hip cocked, head held high, doing his best Freddie Mercury. It’s like riding a bike. Frank wolf-whistles from the crowd, because he’s an asshole. 

Brendon beams; it’s brighter than the stage lights, dazzling and exhilarating. 

Gerard takes a deep breath and says, “Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.” 


End file.
